Together Again
by ladyoftheknightley
Summary: In the months after the war, Andromeda separates herself off from the rest of the world - or tries to. The remains of her family are determined not to let her do this, however. For the Women's Tennis and Chinese Moon Festival Competitions at HPFC!


**Disclaimer: **Sadly, I'm still not JK Rowling so I'm not making any money from this :(

**Notes: **Written for the finals of the **women's tennis **in the 2012 Hogwarts Games, and the **separation slice **of the Chinese Moon Festival Competition! Please leave a review if you enjoyed it :)

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She can't stand it. She _won't _stand it. Her husband, her daughter, her son-in-law. They're all she had, and now—

She starts sentences in her head she can't finish. She reads articles in the paper halfway through then abandons them. She'll start to cook dinner, then leave everything before it's even close to done. So many people file in to see her, to offer their condolences, their sympathy, their she doesn't-know-what and they all want tea. She'll ask them how they take it and she'll just hand it to them with milk and two sugars regardless, because that's how Dora has it.

Had it.

The baby cries and cries and cries and she just wishes he would shut up. She deals with him on autopilot – a nappy change here, a feeding there – but still he doesn't stop crying. She's jealous. _He _can stay in bed all day and cry, she can't. There's food to buy and bills to pay and funeral services to sort and she just wants to hide away but she can't, she _can't_.

She sort of hates Remus and Dora for choosing Harry as Teddy's Godfather, because Harry Potter, Merlin love him, is the saviour of the wizarding world, the Chosen One, and probably a lovely boy to boot, but he is far too busy and in demand to sit with Teddy for more than a couple of hours at a time. He comes round when he can, but he can't be there at two in the morning, when Teddy's been screaming for five hours and she just _doesn't know what to do_.

And even if she did, she's too old for all this.

It's the full moon, which could be causing his restlessness - who knows what werewolf tendencies he inherited from Remus? Or perhaps the moon has nothing to do with it; perhaps it's just because Teddy misses his mother and father. She can't say she blames him.

In a fit of desperation, she pulls out the book on childrearing she brought for her daughter. It falls open to the bookmarked page, one about the umbilical cord. _Some women experience a sense of separation or loss when the remains of the umbilical cord detach themselves. Even at this early stage, your baby is growing up and becoming less reliant upon you, his mother. This is perfectly normal, and may help to prepare you for further feelings of separation from your child: their first day of school, perhaps, or when they eventually move out!_

Or when they _die_.

She throws the book across the room, suddenly furious at it. "Just _shut up_!" she yells at Teddy, and he cries even harder. She feels instantly guilty, and picks him up to rock him gently side to side. Her touch calms him – within minutes, he's fast asleep. She nearly cries with exhaustion herself.

She falls asleep in his room in the armchair, and can hardly move the next day. Even Harry notices her stiff, slow way of moving and asks if everything's okay. "Teddy wasn't sleeping last night, so I had to stay with him," she says. "But I'm too old to be sleeping in that armchair now – it doesn't do my back any good at all."

She suspects that he shares this with Molly Weasley, because a few hours later, she's round offering to do everything from cooking a casserole to having Teddy at the Burrow for a night so she can get a good night's sleep. "I know how hard it is, dear," she says, with a sadness in her eyes that mirrors her own.

Except she feels this immense anger at Molly Weasley: Molly, who got to have seven children and yet only lost one. She only had one child, and hers was taken away from her more cruelly than Molly's son was. Molly has six other children and a husband to look after her; she has a crying baby who just won't let her sleep.

She realises that deep down what she feels is jealousy – jealousy that Molly still has family left to grieve with. She knows that there's no right or wrong with grieving, that there's no "I'm sadder than you" or "my daughter's death is worth more than your son's" but she just doesn't care any more. She just wants to crawl into bed and sleep.

Because who can care when there's nothing left to care for?

Except the baby. The baby who doesn't care if she wants to sleep or cry or drink three bottles of wine in an evening in an attempt to forget. The baby wants feeding, changing, putting down to rest, getting up again, comforting and loving.

The baby probably saves her life.

Days pass—or maybe weeks—and she has no idea what's considered normal any more. She can't remember the last time she cooked a proper meal or cleaned the house. She barely remembers how to dress herself in the morning and she frequently runs out of basic things like clean socks or milk. She feels like a teenager, but she's a grandmother. She was once a member of a Noble and Most Ancient House, and now she's just a lowly housewife. Or maybe she still is Nobel and Ancient? She certainly feels Ancient, when she has to get up (again) at four thirty in the morning. This thought almost makes her smile, except for the fact that she's forgotten how to.

Twenty two weeks and four days after the war—and her world—ends, there comes a knock on her front door. She answers it, expecting Harry, or perhaps Molly (for all she tries to hate Molly, she can't, for she's so good at coming round and helping and just staying with her when she thinks it all might get too much).

It's Narcissa.

"Hello," her sister says.

She cannot think of a thing to say in response.

"Our trial ended today. I'm no longer under house arrest, and I wanted to come and see you. I still have to be accompanied by an Auror wherever I go, but Harry has graciously agreed to come with me to visit you," Narcissa continues smoothly. "I wanted very much to see my sister again."

"What sister?" She doesn't realise she's said it out loud until she sees Narcissa flinch.

"Shall I take Teddy for a walk, Mrs. Tonks?" Harry is desperately trying to diffuse some of the awkwardness. She hands him the baby, and he wanders off, cooing to the boy.

"Gosh, if only they could see him now," Narcissa attempts a smile. "The media would have a field day! He's good with the baby, though." How in Merlin's name is she managing to make small talk after over twenty years of no contact?

She shuts the door in her face.

She doesn't mean to be so dramatic, but she just can't deal with her sister returning now, after all this time. Narcissa's barely spoken three words to her since she left her parents' house, and now that she's suddenly realised she was on the wrong side all these years, she wants to be friends again? She isn't going to fall for _that_.

And besides, how on _Earth_ did she convince the Wizengamot she wasn't guilty of all the war crimes? Unless it was Bella, forcing her hand. It wouldn't be the first time, after all...

When Harry returns with Teddy a couple of hours later, Narcissa is still sat on the front step. She isn't quite sure what to make of this.

After the first, strange day, her sister arrives at nine in the morning on the dot, always with an Auror accompanying her, and stays until seven in the evening. It's the hours she's allowed out of the house, under the verdict handed down by the Wizengamot, Harry explains. She has to give away lots of money, too, and Lucius has to do community service. Draco has had to return to Hogwarts to complete his education, and their home has been repossessed by the Ministry.

There are a million and twelve other rules her sister must obey now, but frankly, she doesn't care. She imagines Narcissa will think this all frightfully unfair, but Andromeda thinks it's unfair that she has to spend her days changing nappies and longing for her husband and daughter. She doesn't have the energy to spare to care about Narcissa's troubles.

A month and a half into Narcissa's visits, though, when her sister's been sat on the step for four hours straight in the rain, Andromeda opens a window and asks what she's doing there. "I just can't bear to see you close yourself off from the rest of the world like this!" Narcissa says.

"I'm the sole caregiver of a small baby," she replies acidly. "I don't have much of a choice."

"You could let me help."

She considers this. Harry and Ginny have both offered to take on more responsibility for Teddy, as have the rest of the Weasleys, Augusta Longbottom and a Midwitch from St. Mungo's who comes to check on them both periodically. She trusts all of these people far more than she does Narcissa, and yet, there's something about her sister that makes her say yes.

There seems little to gain from remaining estranged from the her maiden family - such as it is now. And so she allows her sister inside, and slowly, over cups of tea and awkward half-silences, they start to stitch their relationship back together. It's not perfect, of course, and she suspects that it never will be. The water under the bridge became so deep that it flooded everything, and when the waters eventually receded, there are telltale tidemarks all over, scars that will not heal.

After so much separation, for so long, things are never going to fit back together perfectly again. But it'll do, for now.


End file.
